All of a sudden, Rose began to laugh, a laugh so happy, so full of gratitude, that M. Hervart could make no mistake about its meaning.
"You're being laughed at, my poor friend," M. Des Boys went on.
At this mistake, Rose's laughter redoubled. It became gay, childish, uncontrollable.
"This is something," said Mme Des Boys, "which will console you, I hope. But what a little demon my daughter is!"
Out of pity for her mother, Rose made an effort to restrain herself. She succeeded after two or three renewed spasms and said, addressing herself to M. Hervart:
"What do you think of the little demon? Are you afraid?"
"More than you think."
"So am I; I'm afraid of myself."
"That's a sensible remark," said Mme Des Boys. "Come now, behave."
The home-made cake being approved of, she began giving the recipe. A meal rarely passed without Mme Des Boys' revealing some culinary mystery.
The carriage drove past the windows, and
